Alan Dean Foster Alien 03 Alien 3

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around his neck. ?Ain't had a funeral in a long time.?
?That's right,?agreed his companion somberly. ?I've been kind of missing
the service. It's so much like a passage, you know? Off this place.?
?Amen to that, brother,?said the first man, increasing his stride to
keep pace with the taller Dillon.
The old smelter creaked and groaned as it was juiced to life. The
immense chamber had been cut and blasted out of the solid rock directly
above the ore body, then lined where necessary with heat-reflective
shielding. Monitors and controls lined the walkways and railings. Cranes
and other heavy tracked equipment rested silently where they had been
parked by the departing miners. In the shadows thrown by the reduced
lighting they resembled Mesozoic fossils escaped from some distant museum.
Flames began to flicker around the beveled edges of the holding pit.
They heightened the stark figures of the two prisoners who stood on a
crane suspended over the abyss. A pair of nylon sacks hung between them.
Their limp contents caused them to sag noticeably in the middle.
Ripley gazed up at the men and their burden, her hands tightening on the
rail that separated her from the artificial hell below. Clemens stood
next to her, wanting to say 54
something and, as always, failing to find the right words. Having used
up all the consolation in his body a number of years ago, he now
discovered there was none left for the single forlorn woman standing
beside him.
Aaron was there too, and Dillon, and a number of the other prisoners.
Despite the fact that the dead man had in fact been something of a
government enforcer, none of them smiled or ventured sarcastic remarks.
Death was too familiar a companion to all of them, and had been too much
of a daily presence in their lives, to be treated with disrespect.
Andrews harrumphed importantly and opened the thin book he carried. ?We
commit this child and this man to your keeping, O Lord. Their bodies
have been taken from the shadow of our nights. They have been released
from all darkness and pain. Do not let their souls wander the void, but
take them into the company of those who have preceded them.?
In the control center below, the prisoner called Troy listened via 'com
to the proceedings on the catwalk overhead. When Andrews reached the
designated place in the eulogy the prisoner tech began adjusting
controls. Telltales shifted from yellow to green. A deep whine sounded
behind him, rose to complaining pitch, and died. Other lights flashed ready.
Below the catwalk white-hot flame filled the smelting pit. It roared
efficiently, impressively in the semi-darkness. No mountain of ore
waited to greet the fire, no crowd of technicians stood ready to
fine-tune the process of reducing tons of rubble to slag. The flames
seared the sides of the pit and nothing more.
Tears ran slowly down Ripley's cheeks as she stared at the controlled
conflagration. She was silent in her sorrow and remembrance, making no
noise, issuing no sounds. 55 There were only the tears. Clemens looked
on sympathetically. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, comfort
her. But there were others present, Andrews among them. He stayed where
he was.
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?The child and the man have gone beyond our world,?Andrews droned on.
?Their bodies may lie broken, but their souls are forever eternal and
everlasting.?
?We who suffer ask the question: Why??Eyes shifted from the
superintendent to Dillon. ?Why are the innocent punished? Why the
sacrifice? Why the pain???There are no promises,?the big prisoner
intoned solemnly. ?There is no certainty. Only that some will be called.
That some will be saved.?
Up on the crane the rising heat from the furnace finally became too much
for the men stationed there. They rocked several times and heaved their
burden into the pit, beating a hasty retreat for cooler climes. The
sacks fell, tumbling a few times, before being swallowed by the inferno.
There was a brief, slightly higher flicker of flame near the edge of the
pit as the bags and their contents were instantly incinerated.
Ripley staggered slightly and clutched at Clemens's arm. He was startled
but held his ground, giving her the support she needed. The rest of the
men looked on. There was no envy in their expressions; only sympathy.
Dillon took no notice. He was still reciting.
?But these departed spirits will never know the hardships, the grief and
pain which lie ahead for those of us who remain. So we commit these
bodies to the void with a glad heart. For within each seed there is the
promise of a flower, and within each death, no matter how small, there
is always a new life. A new beginning.? 56
There was movement in the abattoir, a stirring amid the dangling
carcasses and balletic wraiths of frozen air. The massive corpse of the
ox twitched, then began to dance crazily in its chains.
There was no one to witness the gut swelling and expanding until the
dead skin was taut as that of a crazed dirigible. No one to see it burst
under the pressure, sending bits of flesh and fat flying. Internal
organs, liver and stomach, coils of ropy intestines tumbled to the
floor. And something else.
A head lifted, struggling upward with spasmodic, instinctive confidence.
The compact nightmare turned a slow circle, scanning its surroundings. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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